


Icy Reception

by oreopizza47



Series: Untitled Fallout Fic [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:40:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26224321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oreopizza47/pseuds/oreopizza47
Summary: Nate takes his first look at the Commonwealth, and goes looking for answers.
Series: Untitled Fallout Fic [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1869493





	Icy Reception

The metal platform of the elevator scraped against the worn concrete shaft, a blaring warning siren echoing from below. As the lift rose, the door at the top slowly slid open, replacing the soft fluorescents with blinding sunlight. He shielded his eyes, steeling himself for whatever he might find at the end of the line.

As his head ascended to ground level, he held the pistol ready, both hands on the grip with the barrel leveled at the ground. A quick sweep of his eyes as his chin cleared the landing seemed to indicate he was on a hilltop, the flat plateau dropping off a few meters out. He did a slow turn to inspect the rest of the hilltop. On one side was a bombed-out security station, dust and debris visible through the open entryway. A series of rusted and crumpled cars and trucks took up some nearby space. Directly behind him was a dirt path leading around a small cliff face and curving gently downwards, before the land continued to rise beyond a ruined security fence. The trees beyond the fence were nearly all long-dead, withered husks in various levels of still standing. The ground looked brown and covered in debris, any signs of grassy green ground cover replaced with pitiful little scrubs and tufts of brush. 

He completed his turn as the elevator ground to a halt, facing back out towards the drop-off. Now able to see over the ledge, he was surprised to see... Well, a community of sorts, from the looks of things. A collection of squat wooden shacks interspersed with multi-floor concrete bunkers, and three very out-of-place ranch-style homes that looked like the bombs had, if not skipped over them, at least passed by with little more power than a particularly stubborn dirt storm. 

He could see people milling about too. At a quick glance, it seemed like more than a couple per building. Maybe that "bunker" assessment would be more accurately defined as "bunks". Or "barracks", if the array of weaponry strapped to the people was any indication. Rifles slung over shoulders, the glint of pistols in holsters, some little contraptions he couldn't place at a distance. None of the people walking around seemed to be preparing for a fight, but a few outposts along the outer ring of the buildings sported wary guards scanning the area for threats with scoped rifles in hand.

Somehow they hadn't noticed the noise of his ascent, and no one looked his way. Still, better safe than sorry. He stepped off the platform and over to the security station, seeking a quiet place away from prying eyes where he could collect his thoughts. Peering inside the entryway, he was greeted by a thick layer of dust, a large red button labeled for the elevator, and a dessicated skeleton in battered security gear. Eek. Well, the guard wouldn't be asking any questions at least. It would do for a few moments while he planned next steps.

Time to take stock. First, and most important, people were alive. Alive and surviving. He hadn't believed himself the last man on Earth, but it was still reassuring. Second, wherever this vault was, it had by no means escaped the bombs. The scorched and barren landscape was evidence of that much. Third, there were definitely more people here than he had seen evidence of in the vault. It hadn't seemed likely that anyone else survived in the vault anyway, but it felt plainly clear that the community at the foot of the hill had not been made up of vault dwellers who decided they'd rather homestead. So that meant fourth, that people had survived the bombs outside the vault. Possibly personal shelters, possibly being outside of the blast radius and traveling here, possibly blind luck, but they had been able to settle down after the nukes fell. He wondered how long it had been.

He glanced at the Pip-Boy on his arm. Didn't these things have calendars on them, or date readings? He fiddled with the dials for a moment, flipping back and forth through categorization settings for the catalog futilely for a moment before finding the right switch to flip to change screens. He landed on a page with a little visualization of a body listing out vitals information, which seemed to indicate he was in good health, not even very hungry or thirsty. That was reassuring, but not the most pressing concern on his mind. He flicked the switch the other way, past the catalog, and landed on a radio frequency scanner. "Classical Radio" and "Diamond City Radio" were listed at the top of the page of recognized frequencies, but... There! In the bottom left was a date. September 20th...

September 20th, 2289. Almost 212 years since the bombs fell. 

He leaned back into the wall, and then slid to the floor, staring at the date readout. 200 years. Anyone he could have possibly known... They'd be long gone. He couldn't remember a family, or friends, but... A figure shimmered in his memory, a woman whose face was obscured by her hair and shadows. Whoever she was... Gone too. Whatever life he had had, he would now be all that was left of it. That was a sobering thought.

He took a few deep breaths, trying to center himself. Trying to find a silver lining. He had his health. And he had his military experience. Just those should give him a reasonable chance of surviving, as long as he was careful. And the longer he survived, the more he could learn about the bombs, the world, and maybe his own past. There has to be at least one friendly face out in the world, if his freedom from the ice was anything to go by. It didn't seem likely that face would be down the hill though, given the lack of a welcome party. 

Alright. That was the goal then. Information gathering. So that left the settlement downhill as the most logical stop. He stood from his seat on the floor and stretched out. Time to meet the neighbors. 

He stepped out of the shelter of the security station and followed the worn dirt path around the back of the hill, ambling slowly down, walking with shoulders squared and focused on the destination. Confident, but hopefully non-threatening. As he reached the bottom of the path and came to a small creek with a crumbling bridge over it, he raised his arms in the air, still holding the pistol in one hand but with his fingers clearly away from the trigger. By the time he crossed over the rickety wood, the guard at the nearest post had caught sight of him and scoped his rifle. A brief, tense second passed as the barrel was leveled towards him, but he continued steadily forward, and was relieved to not find any new holes in his head. 

The guard looked him up and down, eyes widening slightly as the gun lowered a fraction. Maybe vault suits weren't a common sight this long after the bombs. Making a mental note to get some less conspicuous gear as soon as possible, he approached the guard tower, close enough to call out to the guard.

"Hey! Uh, I'm a little lost! Can you tell me where we are?"

The guard narrowed his eyes at him, assessing his intentions. After a pause, he pulled the rifle into a resting position and waved him forward, motioning for him to stop when he was close enough to speak without yelling.

"This is the settlement of Sanctuary. One of the most secure Minutemen outposts in the Commonwealth. So don't try anything funny," the guard finished, with a casual heft of his rifle. "What's your business?"

Minutemen? Like, American Revolutionary Minutemen? And Commonwealth? Assuming that he was still in the United States, which the presence of Vault-Tec and the Minutemen concept seemed to confirm, that limited the range of locations he could be in down to... Four states? Kentucky, Virginia, Pennsylvania, and Massachusetts. And he was fairly certain the Minutemen were founded in Massachusetts, if he remembered his history right. For once, he found himself thankful for the extensive American history lessons during downtime on tour. "Remember, we are a nation of fighters, from day one! And always remember how we've fought for our freedom!" echoed the voice of some commanding officer long gone. Hah. He could remember America's roots but not his own. Bet there's a lot of military higher ups who would consider him the perfect soldier right about now.

"Hey, you hear me?" snapped the guard, derailing his chain of thought. "What is your business here?" 

"Er, sorry, just trying to get my bearings. I'm trying to find someone. Have you seen anyone come out of that vault up the hill?" 

"Just you pal. From what I hear," mused the guard, scratching his chin, "you're the second ever. I should probably pass word of that on to Charlie, come to think of it." 

"Charlie?" 

"The Minutemen General! Under their leadership, we've made incredible strides in securing the Commonwealth and making people feel safe from Raiders." The guard beamed, and continued, "The General personally led a mission to fight off a gang of Raiders that were trying to attack my family, just a few months ago. It's an honor to serve under them, and protect others how they protected me." 

"Sounds like a hell of a leader. They happen to be around?" 

The guard scoffed, and, sounding a bit like the answer should be obvious, explained, "Hardly! It's a big wide wasteland out there, and the General is always out like it's their personal mission to make it livable." 

"Ah. Any idea when they might stop in next, or where they might be?" 

"Mmm, not really," shrugged the guard. "Tell you what though, you could try to venture out to The Castle. That's the main headquarters of the Minutemen. You seem friendly enough, and there's more than enough munitions there to wipe you off the map if you aren't." 

He blinked at that. Suppose that's one way of being assured in your judgment of character. He hadn't been planning to make enemies of the Minutemen anyway, but he made a mental note to find a way to announce his arrival before approaching the headquarters, to minimize his chances of being turned into red mist. 

He regained his composure, and put on a smile. "Where can I find this 'Castle'?" 

The guard pursed his lips, clearly thinking. "Should be, uh... Due East from Diamond City. If you hit the shoreline, follow it south. Can't miss it, I promise." 

"Diamond City? I, uh, don't know where that is either." 

At that, the guard raised his eyebrows. "You don't know where Diamond City is? It's the most famous settlement in the Commonwealth! Just how new are you?" 

"Well, I did just walk out of that vault ten minutes ago." 

The guard opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Alright, that's fair. Can't imagine how long you'd have to have been in there to not know about it though. In any case," the guard began, straightening up and holding his rifle across his chest, "Diamond City, the so-called 'Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth', is about a day's travel southeast. If you follow the main road, it should be relatively safe," he finished, pointing the rifle down the road behind him. 

"Relatively?"

"Sure. Can't really predict when you might stumble across some of the less friendly native animals, not to mention Raider parties holing up in areas we have less of a foothold in. Unfortunately, we don't have the manpower to police the whole Commonwealth yet." The guard peered down at him, and seemed to look a little worried on his behalf. "Hey, if that little handgun is all you've got, you may want to try to stock up before you make that trip."

"I don't have much of anything to trade with. Anything you could spare to help out?"

The guard frowned. "Some food and water, maybe. Arms and armor, less so. We sell or barter anything we can't get use out of on a pretty regular basis. You probably just missed a caravan to be honest." The guard lowered his gun, and rubbed the back of his head, muttering to himself. Then suddenly, he perked up. "Actually, I think I know something that could help everyone, if you're interested."

He shrugged. "Sure."

The guard smiled, looking relieved. "Great! You should head over to the Abernathy Farm, just a bit southwest of here. Right at the base of that old tower there." He pointed at it with his rifle, and continued, "They've had a run of bad luck lately. A small Raider party stealing from their farm in the night and taking potshots at anyone who tries to go after them. The Abernathy's are good people, but they prefer to keep to themselves, so we don't have any security there. Normally we're close enough to help out, but we've been dealing with some problems of our own the past few nights, and haven't been able to spare the manpower. If you could help them turn the tide, I bet they could help get you sorted for a trip."

He turned it over in his mind for a few seconds. He didn't think he'd find any answers at this farm, but... If he had the ability to make a difference, shouldn't he try? If nothing else, it could mean a bed and some food for a night's watch, and maybe even some gear to supplement his scavenged pistol.

He looked up and locked eyes with the guard, and nodded his assent. "Alright. I'll go help them out. Thanks for the tip."

"No, thank you." The guard let his shoulders drop, releasing some tension. "You're doing a great service for the Minutemen. And hey, you tell Blake that BLOWY JOEY sent you. He'll treat you well."

"Will do." At that, he set his sights on the radio tower, and set a course for the Abernathy Farm.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally wrote part 2 of this Nate fic, still based on my wife's fic, which is still not posted anywhere because she's much more thorough and planning-oriented than I am. Joke's on her, the more I write before her, the more nonsense she has to figure out how to work into her plot. On that note, sorry about BLOWY JOEY honey.


End file.
